


Belong To You

by AndromedaPrime



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Cyberverse
Genre: Breeding, M/M, Pregnancy Kink, Squirting, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 01:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21486307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaPrime/pseuds/AndromedaPrime
Summary: Megatron discovers a couple ofinterestingthings about his data clerk during a round of interface.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Comments: 22
Kudos: 255





	Belong To You

**Author's Note:**

> Curse Unicron, auri_mynonys, and chicagoartnerd (and most of my twitter mutuals) for enabling the _shit_ outta this self-indulgent fic. 
> 
> Inspired by a moment in S2 Ep14 of _Cyberverse_ where a very flustered Optimus draws his facemask into place when being put on the spot. The shy boy needs a good spike-down.

The sound of the blades meeting, metal-on-metal clanging and scraping, made him flinch each time. He half-wondered why he still subjected himself to this “entertainment.”

And then he saw one bot fall to their knees, servos raised in surrender and entreating mercy of the silver mech still standing. Megatron looked out among the crowd for him. His spark stalled a brief pulse, and then he smiled at the mech in the middle of the ring in relief.

Megatron’s optics twinkled, and he lay his blade down. His opponent would live.

Optimus heard the announcer proclaim his mate as the champion, and the crowd celebrated wildly. It truthfully wasn’t in his nature to gloat, but as he saw the lusty gazes of various bots around him, it gave him a sense of pride that Megatron had chosen _ him _. He could have had any bot on Cybertron.

And yet he’d chosen a mere data clerk.

::I will meet you at your quarters: he commed his champion, hoping Megatron could somehow read the salacious little tone he was trying to convey.

He waited a klik, and then the response came.

::I look forward to meeting you there, Optimus.::

He could almost hear the low, rumbling purr. The crowds were filtering out of the stands and swarming Megatron, desperate for autographs and waving holopics in his faceplates. Optimus gave them all a glance, and then retreated into the shadows.

The other gladiators knew better than to try to mess with him. They could get away with ogling if Megatron weren’t there to threaten them with his cannon, but if they laid a single digit on him, all Optimus needed to do was say a word, and the gladiator would be subjected to an extremely fierce sparring session they would surely lose - at best. At worst, they wouldn’t live to see another match.

A gladiator - a new one, he surmised, as he’d never seen her before - leered at him, but another fighter he recognized tapped a pauldron and spat something at her in Pit-speak. Her optics widened, and she quickly turned around so her back was to him. He fought down the urge to draw his facemask up. On one servo, it would likely serve as a trigger point for the gladiators to assume he meant to fight, and on the other servo, Megatron had been trying to break him of his intense shyness.

It made him a little amused. He’d never thought of himself as a particularly attractive mech, and he still didn’t. It was likely the bright colors of his armor that made him such a magnet; almost all gladiators and most of Kaon had more muted tones.

As the longest-serving gladiator, and champion of the arena, Megatron had the largest quarters - though that wasn’t saying very much. Space was a limited commodity, and the only thing he had over the other gladiators was a larger washrack and his own energon storage unit. Optimus quietly keyed his way in and sat on the other mech’s berth, staring at the door and waiting.

The waiting took a while. Optimus rifled through the stack of datapads that Megatron kept for reading and pulled one out. Yet another collection of essays from Databyte, that scholar from eons ago that they’d bonded over.

Optimus onlined the datapad, and then smiled to himself when he saw the little notations that Megatron had made on the cover page, a reminder to himself to lend this to him when he was done reading it.

_ The wealth of the higher castes are built on the poverty of the lower castes. _

Optimus lost himself in reading it and didn’t notice how much time had passed by until he heard the doors slide open. He looked up and into the tired, relieved red optics of his gladiator. Without waiting for further word, Optimus marked his place in the datapad and took Megatron into his arms, kissing him feverently.

Megatron met the kiss in kind, clearly exhausted from prying optics and fans that he had no interest in interacting with. The data clerk was more than happy to be his source of recharge and his respite from the hard life of having to be a celebrity.

“How much I missed you,” Megatron sighed against his mouth as he pulled back from their intense kiss. “My berth is always cold when you’re not here, my clerk.”

Optimus bunted his helm crest against Megatron’s forehelm and smiled. “And my spark feels so empty when we’re not together. I’m glad the sentiment is shared.”

Rough, scratched servos cupped his small and tender face, bright red optics gazing into his. “I have to ask you, before we go any further with this,” Megatron said huskily. “Did you think on what I asked?”

A little tingle sent its way up Optimus’s spinal strut and through his neural net, and he felt his faceplates flush with heat as he nodded. “After all these stellar cycles,” he grasped onto the servo that was stroking along his jawline, “I’m more than ready.”

“Are you certain, my spark?”

How it warmed Optimus all over to hear Megatron refer to him with such beautiful words. He nodded, engine purring softly. “If it is any confirmation, I became more and more certain about this each time you showed your prowess in the arena.”

A curious rumble emanated from the gladiator’s chassis as he laughed and pressed his helm to his. “So how long had you been thinking of this, hmm?”

It was embarrassing for Optimus to admit. He ducked and hid his face from the other mech. “Longer than I care to admit.”

There was a heavy pause, and then one of Megatron’s servos gently grabbed him by the chin and moved his helm so they were optic-to-optic again. Optimus closed his optics, then reopened them. “The fantasies have been there since… well, since we met.”

An expression of surprise crossed Megatron’s faceplates.

And then he kissed him with such fervor that Optimus wouldn’t have been surprised if he now bore the imprint of the gladiator’s face on his own. He moaned into the kiss and wrapped his arms around his lover’s broad shoulder struts, making no complaint as he was pressed into the berth.

Megatron settled between his legs, one servo holding onto his helm, the other stroking along his over-sensitive thighs. The cabling in his legs twitched, and Optimus arched his hips. Then, before he could quash it, he let out a small squeaky noise before he could quash it. He stalled and felt heat rise to his face. Again.

Perhaps Megatron hadn’t heard it.

Then Megatron stopped his ministrations, electromagnetic field stalling. “Was that… was that you?” he asked, not hiding the tone of mirth in his voice.

Yup. He’d heard. Optimus parted two of his digits and created a small opening for him to look out of. “Yes.”

The other mech laughed and kissed him gently on the back of his servos that still covered his face, separating them. “Don’t be so tense and embarrassed, Optimus,” he whispered lowly. “You’re allowed to feel desire.” Then he paused, and smirked. “And you are allowed to make all the ridiculous noises as you wish.”

Optimus grabbed a mesh cushion and hurled it at Megatron, laughing as it missed the gladiator and hit the wall behind him. The gladiator laughed as well. “Well, now we see why you’re a data clerk and not a gladiator. I hope you have better aim in your data entry than with throwing objects.”

The data clerk playfully shoved Megatron in his chassis. “Oh hush and frag me now.”

Megatron was immediately on him again, kissing him hard on his lipplates, growling, engine rumbling. Optimus wrapped his arms around the gladiator’s neck again and moaned softly, tilting his helm back as Megatron’s kisses trailed down his jaw and neck. Little bits of fire and spark burned in their wake, lingering as a promise of what was to come.

The grey mech kissed over the seam of his chassis where the plates would part to reveal his life force, his brilliant blue spark. A little thrill came over Optimus as he imagined - perhaps one day - merging with Megatron’s own. He wondered what it looked like. Was it bright as his optics, wondrous as his words and that processor of his?

Panting softly, Optimus brought a servo to cup Megatron’s helm as the gladiator reached his abdominal plating, kissing over the space between his hip struts. The light sensation lit something deep inside, making him deeply aware of a longing that he’d felt for some time but didn’t want to voice: Megatron filling him deeply, sparking new life. He could see himself with it so clearly, his belly full and ripe and round with sparkling, and Megatron touching his middle with worshipful hands and kissing him with reverence.

How he _ wanted _ it, how he wanted to be so full of Megatron’s fluids and to merge their sparks so intensely that there would be no other outcome. It would let everyone, his friends, the upper castes that hated them, the fans and the gladiators that lusted after them both, know that he was claimed and that Megatron was wholly his, his alone.

The thought of it sent a thrill up his spinal strut, and before he could stop himself, he moaned.

Megatron chuckled and planted a firm kiss on the space above his interface panel. “What has my data clerk so worked up?” he asked with a lascivious tone to his smooth voice.

Optimus arched his hips again and felt his faceplates heat with embarrassment. “I imagined carrying your sparkling,” he admitted, his self-control all but gone at this point. “And how it would feel to have you take me so thoroughly,” his voice faltered a bit, softenening, “that it would actually happen.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he found himself regretting it. He put his servos to his faceplates again and felt the heat from his embarrassment intensify. This would be it, Megatron would think he was disgusting, his fantasy so _ depraved _, and this would be the end of-

A low rumble emanated from the gladiator. Optimus moved his servos, looked at Megatron, and saw those intensely red optics staring back at him.

“_ Primus, _ ” Megatron growled lowly, and it was then that Optimus realized the rate of venting and internal core temperature in the other mech had increased. “The thought of it,” he purred, nuzzling his lower belly with his nasal ridge and lipplates, soft flitting touches that sent a shiver of _ want _ up his spinal strut again. “I’d love nothing more than to have a sparkling with you. You’d be absolutely irresistible as a carrier.” He kissed him again, over there, over where his gestation chamber lay in pause - waiting to be filled. Optimus’s hips jerked as Megatron continued, “Do you want that, Optimus? For me to fill you up so _ heavily _ ,” he lowered his voice so it was almost sinfully low and _ Primus above _ he could probably get sparked just hearing that voice, “that your middle swells from it all? Hmm? A preview of the future?”

It was ridiculous. It was ridiculous, but _ Primus and all the Primes _ Optimus wanted this so much. He looked Megatron in his optics, imagined the beautiful little sparkling they would have at their pedes, and how he wished to make this a reality. 

He seized Megatron’s helm and brought him into a kiss. This time it was _ his _ engine that revved so loudly that he half-wondered if everyone outside could hear the sound of his arousal. He was met with sharp dentae biting down on his lipplates, hungry, wanting to taste every bit of him as always, and Optimus bit back, panting. He felt his vents open up, trying to cool his frame.

“Please,” he begged, voice low and rasping as he clung to the gladiator, trying to keep him as his anchor. 

A dangerous smile and gleam came over Megatron’s face and optics and the mech kissed his way down again. Megatron’s glossa swirling and tracing delicate patterns around his array left him squirming, venting heavily. Optimus bit down on his digits to try and muffle the sound, but the endeavour was futile. However, it seemed to goad the other mech further on.

Oh _ Primus _ he had never imagined this would feel so incredible. He gasped, rocking his hips, reaching out to grab at Megatron’s helm with his free servo. The sensations were absolutely amazing, wonderful, and he softly chanted the gladiator’s designation with each stroke and lick up his valve.

“What does my beautiful data clerk want?” Megatron asked, the deep timbre of his voice doing unholy things to Optimus’s array. He could almost _ feel _ the smirk on Megatron’s faceplates.

The fragger.

“You, in me,” Optimus replied, arching his neck and gasping. “I want you in me.”

His world went a little dark, and he looked up into the looming faceplates of his gladiator, his mate, his love. 

“When I’m done, you will never be able to rid yourself of me,” Megatron growled, leaning down and kissing along Optimus’s neck once more. “I’m going to take you so thoroughly that you’ll be overflowing with my essence.”

That delectable voice promising to fulfill his deepest desires made Optimus moan loudly, as he wrapped an arm around Megatron’s back to pull him closer. Yes, oh yes _ Primus and the Primes. _

“You’ll be filled to your limit, and still you’ll beg for more like the greedy archivist you are,” Megatron whispered, giving him such a salacious smirk that Optimus felt another gush leak from his valve, and his spike wanted to release. He gazed at Megatron, processor swirling with the pleasure, as the mech continued, “I’ll force you to watch as I spill more and more into your frame, filling your wanton little chamber until your plating bows outward.” His engine revved loudly, the exact same moment that Optimus’s did. “How marvelous you’ll look, carrying our sparkling. There’ll be no one in the universe to equal your beauty.”

Optimus felt so disgusted in how much he wanted all of that, the extent of how he wanted to be filled beyond his limit and to watch his frame struggle and try to keep it all in, to accommodate everything Megatron could give him. Then, he would feel it - the first stirrings of a newspark, something they’d created from nothing more than themselves, and he would watch his frame adapt to all those changes.

How much would it all change? Would it be a gentle little bulb between his hips, small enough that Megatron’s servos could cover it, or would it be a prominent roundness that made it difficult for him to go about his daily routine?

Megatron would enjoy it so much, it occurred to him. He’d love lavishing attention on him if it became too difficult to move, and oh how he would adore every chance to love him.

No. He didn’t just want it. He _ needed _ it.

He reached between their frames, the tips of his digits grazing against the head of his gladiator’s spike. It twitched, and Megatron groaned and pumped his hips forward, prompting Optimus to wrap his servo around the length. 

“By the Pits,” the gladiator choked out, “how are you real, Optimus?”

It was a question that the data clerk wanted to ask Megatron as well. How was this gladiator the pinnacle of perfection? Well-read, intelligent, one of the finest orators he’d ever had the pleasure of hearing speak. Brutal when need be in the confines of the Pits, where he fought for his life and inched every bit closer to his freedom, but always tender to him.

Optimus gave him a faint smile, chassis heaving as he stroked up and down the other mech’s thick length. “I would ask the same of you,” he rasped out. “How does a mech as perfect as you exist?”

The praise seemed to be the trick to getting Megatron to let go. The gladiator groaned, and Optimus kept stroking him as thick transfluid flowed freely from the mech’s spike, spattering over his servo and abdominal plating.

“Oh, curse you,” Megatron said, chuckling as he retreated from his euphoric high. “I wanted to bring _ you _ to overload first.”

The data clerk smirked and, without warning, flipped their positions, catching the other mech entirely off guard. Swinging one leg over Megatron’s frame, Optimus sat on top of him and rolled his hips so his array slid against the length of Megatron’s erect spike, smirking with a smug sense of satisfaction as he watched the gladiator come further undone, staring at him with disbelieving and incredibly aroused optics. 

“Oh, you devious little clerk,” the other mech hissed as he arched his hips up, trying his best to seat himself into that tight and wet heat that awaited him, and Optimus clenched down on nothing at the thought of it. He grasped Megatron’s spike in his servo and stroked up and down again, just to see the furious look in Megatron’s optics - how _ dare _ he be denied - before shifting so he lined up his valve with that rigid length and sank down, taking his champion in one go.

Megatron’s moan was absolutely _ obscene _. 

Optimus began rocking back and forth, servos gripping onto Megatron’s sides as he steadied himself. The slick slide, in and out, of Megatron’s spike was absolutely divine, the ridges along the surface catching on and sliding against his anterior node, sending cascading fire up his spinal strut. 

“You ride like an experienced pleasurebot,” his lover mused thoughtfully, stroking the tip of a digit over a valve fold and then scraping it against Optimus’s node. “How many times have you done this before?”

Shuddering softly from the combined eroticism of _ that voice _ and the pressure against his node, Optimus gave a roll of his hips. “Twice or so. But I have not done this in quite a long time.”

Megatron smirked. “Then count me very pleased to be part of your practice.”

Optimus wanted to throw another pillow at him, but that thought was quickly shunted away when he felt the upward climb that always preceded his overload, an intense shaking sensation spreading throughout his frame. It started in his pelvic span, and then his legs began shaking, and before he knew it he was riding that thick spike with abandon, pleading for release, pleading for Megatron to keep rolling his hips up into his-

Then it hit him, and he cried out. His overload was intense, far, far more intense than he’d ever had before. His valve clenched fiercely around Megatron’s spike, not willing to let go. Dimly he was aware of Megatron murmuring praises - how beautiful, how _ divine _, oh how he’d ruined interface for him if he could not continue to have him.

Optimus wanted to tell him those same words, how he shared those sentiments, but his mind was too taken by the intensity of his euphoria to properly form words.

Something tensed up, low in his belly, and before he knew it he was rocking further erratically on his mate’s spike, helm thrown back and gasping, scrabbling for something to hold onto as he heard Megatron gasp. Everything felt… wet. Incredibly wet.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he managed to recuperate and his processor became less and less fuzzed by the intensity of his overload as he came down from his high. He felt an intense vibration in his frame, and a moment later realized it was Megatron revving his engine. Optimus opened his optics, unaware that he’d shut them, and smiled lazily at the mech beneath him.

A glint of blue caught his optics. He looked down, and his mischievous victory over the Champion of Kaon, the breaker of mechs and snuffer of sparks, turned to abject horror.

“Perhaps I need to work you up so intensely more often,” Megatron said with a smirk both in his voice and spread wide on his faceplates. How Optimus wanted to tell him to knock it all off, it was incredibly embarrassing. “That was beautiful.”

Optimus stared at the mess - no, it wasn’t a mess, _ it was an ocean _\- he’d made, their arrays and thighs and legs and the berth around them absolutely coated in his fluids. He brought his servos up to his helm, trying to steady his intake rate, which was nearing dangerous levels according to the little pop-up in his visual field, warning him that his fans were preparing to online and cool him down. He shunted the notification aside.

And then he slid his facemask into place.

Megatron laughed uproariously, and then Optimus felt large servos wrap around his lower arms and tug him downward, making him gasp a little as he fell none-too-gracefully atop the gladiator. He lifted himself up a little bit, balancing his weight on his forearms, and gazed down at the other mech as Megatron said, “And there’s no need for the mask, my beloved,” he purred, kissing over the seam where it parted. “There’s no need to hide your face from me.”

Making a noise of protest, Optimus managed to part his mask but didn’t allow Megatron to kiss him. Primus, he was _ filthy _ , much filthier than he’d ever realized. First there was the fantasy of being sparked and growing round with sparkling, being worshipped by the gladiator, something he’d felt was so disgusting and yet he’d confessed it anyway. Now there was this entire debacle. Optimus made to try and get off, slide off of Megatron’s spike as he stammered out, “I’m going to search for cleaning sheets, Primus above I’m so sorry, _ this is horrif _-”

The gladiator reached out and drew him close again, not permitting him access to leave the berth. Megatron rumbled deep in his chassis and kissed a helm fin. “Oh, don’t apologize, Optimus. It was a beautiful sight to see.”

Optimus pushed down the urge to slide his mask back into place. He buried his face against Megatron’s neck and sighed. “I made a mess,” he said dully.

“Watching you lose control of yourself in like that was the best post-victory gift I could ask for,” Megatron had a smirk on his voice again, Optimus just knew it. “I’d like to watch it again, my stoic and shy little clerk spending all his fluids, just because of my spike.”

His voice had lowered its deep timbre on the last sentence, and as always it was just what Optimus needed to feel his interfacing protocols online again, and feel a small gush of fluid between his thighs. He pulled away from the gladiator and tried to climb atop him again, but before his processor could catch up to him, Megatron had grabbed him by the waist and hoisted him in his arms.

There was a lot of jostling as the gladiator stepped off the berth - and Optimus looked at the mess and felt his faceplates heat in embarrassment again - but it was all put out of his mind when Megatron pressed him with his back against the wall, and he looked up into the smoldering red optics. Without having to be told, Optimus wrapped his legs around his lover’s waist and held onto the gladiator’s sides with his servos, looking between their frames as Megatron slid back inside.

It was perfection. The cheap romance datapads he’d read every so often, hidden away from prying optics as he shamefully devoured their content, always had those lines - how interface arrays fit so perfectly together, as if the bots had been made, by Primus himself, for one another. On the surface he thought it was a simple little fantasy, but he still thought about it each time he happened to interface with prior lovers.

Pleasurable the trysts had been, but they didn’t seem to fit him quite as well as this one did.

His champion slid home, seating himself fully and groaning in appreciation for the wet heat. Optimus smiled and rippled his calipers along the length.

“If it were feasible, I’d have you in my berth, each night,” Megatron whispered huskily, engine growling, as he rolled his hips and the ridges at the base of his spike teased mercilessly at the rim of Optimus’s valve. Optimus moaned and closed his optics, leaning his helm back. “I curse the distance that separates us, and look forward to the time we manage to spend together.” He moved one of his servos from where it was gripping Optimus’s thigh and stroked his face.

Optimus leaned into the tender, gentle touch, and the thought crossed him that this mech could maim and kill so mercilessly and yet…

He treated him as if he were the most fragile, beautiful thing he’d ever laid his optics on, had ever touched. Optimus opened his optics, gazed into Megatron’s optics, and then drew the closest of Megatron’s digits into his mouth, suckling it with fervor.

Megatron’s engine revved. He gripped his thigh again, slid out - much to Optimus’s chagrin, as always - and then slammed back home. Optimus gasped and his arms moved from Megatron’s sides to the gladiator’s helm, gripping onto the gray metal like it was his anchor and he was drowning. He gazed into those fiery red optics and panted, pleading for more, _ more please keep going please _-

“Curse you,” Megatron rasped, his red optics twinkling slightly. “You devious little clerk,” he thrust in hard as if to drive the point home. He reached down between their frames, stalling in his thrusts, and rubbed his digits over the throbbing and tender node at the apex of Optimus’s array, making him gasp and groan with each flick of the little nub. “I can’t stop imagining you round with sparkling.”

Optimus smiled at him weakly and arched his hips in response to the stimulation of his anterior node, feeling the fire lick its way up his neural net. The cables in his abdomen clenched with intense want for another overload, a more intense joining, and-

_ >>Reproductive Protocols: [Online] _

_ >>Query: Open Gestation Chamber? [Y/N] _

Oh how he wanted this. He wanted to be so full that if he moved, he would feel Megatron’s fluids slosh inside of him. He wanted to watch his plating bow outwards, touch his servo to it, watch Megatron’s face as he imagined feeling their sparkling moving under his touch one solar cycle. 

But not right now. They couldn’t have that sparkling right this moment, no matter how much his coding and processor and spark all begged for it.

It was far too soon. They could still indulge in the fantasy, though, he realized. It was a two-step process. 

He opened the little gateway into his gestation chamber, smirking. Megatron seemed to notice what he’d done, as he thrust harder and deeper, as if trying to empty everything he could give into that small, delicate, metal chamber that could forge and carry life. He gripped his thighs harder, and Optimus tightened his legs around the gladiator’s waist, gasping with each rough thrust.

“Fill me up,” he gasped. “I want to feel everything.”

Megatron’s face twisted into something a little like shock, and then he increased the tempo of his movements.

“Come on, champion,” Optimus said lustily, gripping tightly onto Megatron’s helm with his servos, goading him on. “Spark me. Let every bot that sees me,” he gasped in time with a particularly hard thrust, “know that I belong to you.”

The gladiator’s engine revved the loudest that Optimus had ever heard it. The expression on Megatron’s face told him that he intended on doing just that. Megatron slid out as far as he could, and then slid back inside with such intensity that it was a wonder Optimus didn’t feel more pain.

Optimus cried out, gripped onto Megatron, and then when he felt that pressure build up and release deep in his belly, he looked down at the streaming spurts of blue that cascaded from his valve, down his aft, and down Megatron’s lower body.

The part of him that was not yet clouded entirely by lust thought about how disgusting it was that he could make such a mess. But then Megatron growled and pressed his mouth to one of his audio receptors and whispered, “How _ beautiful _.”

His own engine revved, and Optimus couldn’t stop it. He kissed Megatron with fervor, drinking the taste of those lipplates as if it were the elixir that would continue to give him life.

And oh Megatron seemed to share the sentiment, fiercely claiming Optimus’s lipplates and caressing his face and helm with a servo, murmuring sweet nothings about _ my mate _ and _ beautiful _ and _ my equal in all things my reason for living- _

Overload hit the gladiator. It began with the intense twitching of the length sheathed in his valve, and ended with Megatron rasping his name and his thrusts becoming more and more erratic as his spike emptied everything he could into his valve. Optimus felt it trickle into his gestation chamber, and he kissed all over his mate’s faceplates.

It was just a fantasy, he had to remind himself. Only a fantasy.

.-.-.

It was a few cycles later that Optimus roused from the deep recharge that all of those overloads had put him into. He stirred and onlined his optics, adjusting them to the still-dark of Megatron’s quarters, and checked his chronometer.

He’d only been out half the night. He would have to head back to Iacon when the sun rose, but as he looked down at his frame, he thought about calling in for another day off.

Alpha Trion wouldn’t ask questions. And, he had plenty of time saved.

Optimus reached down the length of his frame and touched the small curve of his belly. It was miniscule, and on a larger bot it would have been very imperceptible, but he was quite sadly not that large of a bot. He moved slightly, and then felt his internals _ jostle _ with the movement.

Right. He’d goaded Megatron into emptying everything he could into his frame, taking Megatron with his back to the wall, on all fours on the floor, pinned underneath the mech in the washrack, telling Megatron to fill him and spill everything much in the same way that-

He suddenly remembered the other discovery from their tryst, and looked around on the berth, and was relieved to find it was cleaned, but also very much embarrassed that his mate had had to clean up his own mess. 

The closer he reached his limit, the more he found himself apologizing profusely for making such a mess, how he had _ never _ done that before and it had to be all because of Megatron - a notion that, of course, only served to inflate the gladiator’s ego. His mate had been so delighted by the new discovery that he praised him each time he spent himself, blue fluids puddling around them.

Speaking of mate, Megatron was sound in recharge, the line of his chassis lifting up and down softly every so often. Optimus slowly crawled over to the larger frame, gently enveloping Megatron with his electromagnetic field, feeling the restless field calm when met with his gentle pushes. The gladiator made a noise and then stirred, opening his optics and looking at him for a moment before smiling. “Hello, my beloved.”

Optimus tucked himself next to Megatron, laying his helm on the broad silver chassis, and smiled back in kind, optics softened. Primus, how he loved this brutally gentle mech. “Hello, my love.”

Megatron kissed one of his helm fins gently and then wrapped an arm around him, inhaling softly, before his field tensed. “I know you leave early. You should be in recharge.”

The data clerk shook his helm. “I’ve sent a message to Alpha Trion telling him I’ll be another solar cycle. And, I cannot show up to work in this state.”

The gladiator drew a quizzical look on his faceplates before he looked down, and then the quizzical expression was replaced by comprehension. He reached a servo out, but seemed to think better of it and drew it back.

Optimus didn’t miss the little ripples of _ want _ in Megatron’s field, however. He reached out, grabbed Megatron’s servo, and laid them both over the curve of his middle.

In a less lust-addled state, Optimus had to admit that it was a little strange.

“Are you certain you would want to be sparked one day?”

The data clerk looked at his gladiator, and nodded. Then, he replied, “Not right now. I’d love to carry, but it is far too soon.”

Megatron buried his face in his shoulder strut, and Optimus used his other servo to stroke over the other mech’s helm. 

“I had dreams,” Megatron murmured, the vibration of his voice shooting into his spark. “Of you and I, the world we’ll create, and our sparkling between us. Did you see them too?”

Optimus smiled gently, thought of his mind’s conjurations, and nodded. “We’ll have that one day, my champion. Until now,” he moved his servo from the gladiator’s helm, “we work to make Cybertron a better place than it is currently.” He sighed. “If we bring a sparkling into our current world, with our caste system, I don’t think I would forgive myself.”

To his side, the gladiator emitted a small noise, and then replied, “All the more for us to work for this cause.” A faraway look came over his faceplates and he sighed. “So those that want sparklings can have them without fear of the caste system limiting them further.”

Something in Optimus’s spark bloomed with tenderness, and he stroked his digits over Megatron’s shoulder strut. The gladiator buried his face into his side.

One day, he told himself. One day.

“Until then,” Megatron purred against his side, doing further unholy things to his array and his spinal strut. Optimus quashed it down as the gladiator continued, “We’ll have a lot of practice getting you sparked up, won’t we?”

The salacious question drew a noise of embarrassment from Optimus. And he activated his facemask again.


End file.
